2
The paramedics insisted on checking him out and pulled him over to their rig with a determination Jack couldn't fight.
The man was there. Ready for transport to the hospital, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. His eyes were open, and for a second Jack looked into the clearest sky blue gaze, and his breath hitched. He hadn't really looked at the guy he was rescuing. Yeah, he'd cursed that the man was over six foot and near to dying in there, but the eyes and strong features visible under the mask and the firm lips and jaw—he'd definitely missed those.
The man lifted the mask with shaky fingers.
"I like fire fighters," he whispered and coughed.
"Sorry?" Jack leaned in to hear him over the noise and chaos outside the rig.
"Fire fighters… I can never find a gay one."
Well, I like a man in a suit, Jack thought.
He'd had proposals of marriage before from grateful women he'd rescued, but of course, he was way too professional, and too gay, to take them up on their offers.
Was this man coming on to him?
The guy was clearly delirious or oxygen-deprived or something. Jack was used to this kind of reaction, and he generally played along. The people he rescued being very thankful was a given, and Jack always took their comments in good humour, as did any fire fighter in his position.
"Your bodies are fiiiine," the patient was slurring. His expression was less focused and tending more toward unconsciousness. "And your hoses. Never find a gay one, though."
Then he started mumbling and suddenly closed his eyes.
Jack moved swiftly out of the way and found himself watching as the rig moved off with the man inside—to Holywell Community Hospital, he guessed.
A gay man had come on to him, and then slumped into unconsciousness. They'd meet again—this was a small town—but the chances that the man, Ianto, would recall anything of what had just happened were slim.
Typical.
Jack resolved to go and visit the guy in the hospital; only to check and see if everything was okay. That was all. Nothing to do with the whole men-in-suits thing. Or the fact that the gay man had the palest blue eyes against the bloodshot red.
"Look lively, Jack," Chief Lethgren instructed.
It was a long time until the all clear. Even longer back to his small rented house and to the shower. He'd fit in a visit before work tomorrow, which, according to the clock on the microwave, was less than three hours away. The downside of volunteering was showing up at work, as usual, the next day. He knew his new employer would allow him some leeway, but it was only his second day working for the mayor of Holywell, and he hoped to hell the newness of the position would keep his feet moving and his brain alert. Otherwise, he was fucked.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but a call woke him from dreams and he scrambled for the phone after a moment's disorientation. The screen showed seven a.m.
Yawning widely, he answered.
"Jack Harkness," he said, unable to hide the exhaustion in his voice
"We need you at the station and then on to the scene," Chief Lethgren said. His captain's voice was tense, and Jack woke up pretty quickly. "Also, best bring your big-city moves as well. The initial walkthrough shows evidence the fire was started deliberately; could do with your take on this before I send the report to get an investigative team out here."
"Ten minutes, sir," Jack said.
"Quick as you can." Lethgren sounded pissed. "In Holywell, people don't set fires, Jack. Fires happen by accident. Fat fryers, electrics, camp fires and the like. Fires don't start because some idiot decides they want to see something burn. This isn't the city, you know."
Jack agreed. In the city, deliberately set fires occurred on a daily basis. Things were different in Holywell.
"I'm leaving as soon as I can," Jack said and hung up. He was already out of bed and into the bathroom. Another thing about living two minutes from the station was that he could actually fit in another shower without being horrendously late. He'd showered when he got home, but he still smelled smoke in his nostrils, and he needed that added shot of cold to his system.
Showered but not shaved, he was dressed and out of the door in five and at the station in another two.
Lethgren looked exhausted, like he'd been up all night, and was hunched over fragments of something on the main desk. Jack appraised it quickly. He didn't have to be an expert to see what was there. Remnants of a glass bottle, melted and nearly destroyed, and next to it a brand-new bottle filled with liquid and with a rag sticking out of the end.
"Found this at the scene and this out the back. Clearly one did the damage and the second wasn't needed."
Jack's gut clenched. This kind of fire-starter device was child's play. Gas in the bottle, rag in the end, light the rag and throw. The glass broke, the gas spread, and the flames dispersed over a large area.
"Deliberate," Jack said. He didn't need to say it, but Lethgren was looking at him expectantly, evidently waiting for Jack's initial reaction. "But I'd need to see the burn patterns to be sure."
They made their way over to what was left of the building.
The meeting was far more interesting than Jack had expected. He'd thought he'd left arson back in the city, imagined that Holywell would be a whole different kettle of fish. But no. The forensics, backed up by the fire pattern and spread, could only mean that the fire had been started deliberately using the gas-and-jar method.
He and Lethgren were called to a meeting with Chief of Police Andrew Davidson and the mayor. It felt weird to have moved from a situation in which he was learning to support the mayor to one in which he was suddenly the experienced one.
"Did you manage to get any fingerprints from the glass?" Jack asked the chief of police.
Davidson shook his head. "Nothing that was usable. Whoever it was, took great pains to keep everything clean. But this is what I don't understand. Why wipe prints and put an end to the forensic trail that way, then leave a fully set-up cocktail ready to throw at the scene?"
"Maybe whoever it was expected to need to use two," Lethgren pointed out. "Maybe they didn't think the place was going to go up so quickly. The explosion burned up the grass outside the building and came close to where we think the perp was standing—maybe he or she just got scared and ran."
Chief Lethgren tapped his notes. "Jack, have you come across anything like this before? A deliberate arson where the tools are left behind?"
Jack paused for a moment. What he wanted to say would be nothing new to the chief, but maybe, just maybe, some of what he said would ring a bell with the cops. He was new to this town and didn't have a handle on the general population yet. Settling his thoughts, he slid straight into where his experience and knowledge could help.
"Arsonists can be split into five categories. Most arsons are committed for either revenge or excitement. The remainder as acts of vandalism, or to conceal a crime, or for profit, including insurance fraud. Leaving evidence at the site implies the firebug is new to all this, but that doesn't help us categorize him or her. I think we can rule out concealing crime or profit, given that this is a public building and there was no crime in there to hide. But that doesn't tell us whether it was for revenge or excitement."
"So in your opinion?"
"Revenge for a case? Vandalism against a cop, or cops in general. Nothing else was hit, so the precinct was clearly the only target. They clearly didn't realise this part was the Help Line Service … or didn't care. Do you have any ongoing cases, or anything outstanding you should be tracking back?"
"No one who has an arson MO," Davidson answered quickly. Frowning, he glanced down at the photos of the crime scene with the Fire Department markings. "This is a quiet place. Only one suspicious death in twenty years. Other than that, just your average kids' stuff—nothing like attempted murder."
No one mentioned the fact that Davidson had labelled it an attempted murder, simply because it had been. Whoever had thrown the bottle must have known there were people inside.
Jack left the meeting unsettled, and after he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he took a detour back to the destroyed police house. Something itched at the base of his skull—a similarity to a case back in Nashville. A disgruntled ex-employee of a chemical company. There had been no chance of causing damage to his employers, so he'd taken it out on the closest thing—pharmacies carrying the medications his ex-employers created. But the only similarity was that the same method had been used.
Jack recalled that, when questioned, the guy had said he'd researched how to set a fire on the internet. He sighed inwardly. He'd never quite got over the fact that people posted shit like that online—detailed instructions on how to burn a building to the ground in three easy stages, simply using a bottle and accelerant. He'd have to check what instructions were out there for people to follow now. The whole area was cordoned off with tape, and contractors were setting up a ring of fencing around the whole site. The place was still a crime scene, and until the cops and the fire team signed off on the cause, it was likely to stay that way.
Given the assumption that it was arson, Jack just wanted to get one last look at what was left.